


Losers of the Year

by twelvepercentofaplan



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Brotp, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father Figures, Gen, Inspired by Music, Rocket and Star-Lord are fucking BROTP goals, Sad, The playlist is great!, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 19:31:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10860588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twelvepercentofaplan/pseuds/twelvepercentofaplan
Summary: In a day's worth of time, the Guardians of the Galaxy found Peter's biological father, befriended an empathic bug-woman, killed Peter's biological father who they totally just found (who also happened to be a Celestial), and lost Yondu Udonta in the aftermath of it all.And Rocket hasn't been himself since.And it's not until Mantis comes to his room one day that he realizes that he isn't the only one who isn't in the right state of mind.Spoilers for Vol. 2!





	1. The Mantis Touch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [divisionten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/divisionten/gifts), [Growliere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Growliere/gifts), [yornma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yornma/gifts).



> Oh, Guardians of the Galaxy. It has been so long.
> 
> I've waited 3 years for the sequel and dude, it tore me apart. It was so funny, so sad, such an emotional rollercoaster. And by the end of it, I just wanted to cry.
> 
> I did eventually do that coz I'm a sensitive little bitch when j sit in my room alone.
> 
> And that was what inspired this little two part story.
> 
> I love Rocket, as most'a you guys know. He's the best. And easily the most relatable character for me. So of course I wanted to write about him in the aftermath of the film's events.
> 
> And it slowly branched out and, well... You'll see.
> 
> Honestly, this ain't anything too special. It's just me finding a way to get a lot of pent up emotions out. It's been a rough couple weeks but this movie helped me find a little bit of hope in life again. Which is cool.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy this two part thing. I mean, if a can. 
> 
> Also, shout out to everyone on here who I've gifted this thing to. You guys are great, even if it's been a good minute since we've even said hi.
> 
> Also:
> 
> \- Mantis is a sweetheart.  
> \- Rocket deserves the galaxy and more.  
> \- Seriously, can we get some stories about Rocket and Mantis bonding? I got some ideas but shit. They're a great pair to write together.  
> \- I'm Mary Poppins, y'all.

The new vessel smells weird.

That was the first thing Rocket noticed about the place once they'd properly settled in. It had a funny stench that wasn't exactly horrible, but it wasn't exactly something a guest would be overjoyed to be greeted with. In all honesty, Rocket expected the remains of the Eclector to smell of must, blood, barf, and maybe even the tiniest bit of semen. Gross? Yes. But the Ravagers weren't exactly a bunch that were bound to smell like sunshine ad daisies.

But it didn't smell like any of those things he'd original assumed.

But it just smells… Weird. There's no pinpoint description he can place on it, no single word the ringtail could place on it. But he can say it's uncomfortable, uninviting, and maybe just plain old fitting for this insane group that lives on the vessel.

But it doesn't feel like home.

He misses the Milano, with her sleek controls, glorious, shimmering blue form adorned in orange accents, and the pilot seat where he took them all for joyrides now and again. That's where he sat in the back and constructed their jetpacks after studying Quill's helmet for a week. The Milano is where everyone became a little bit more than a group of friends.

But for a week now, Rocket hasn't done much.

Even now, the raccoon sits in his room, cross-legged on the floor, humming to himself that Southern Nights song. The door is shut, keeping him cut off from the others outside, the sprig called Groot included, while he twists apart the barrel of one of his newly acquired pistols. Modifications, calibrations, all of that good stuff. But it’s not much when it comes to the raccoon's terms of **_doing something_ **.

It's nice to have a space to himself. It's about the only real positive thing that's come out of this sudden transfer of homes for Rocket. On the Milano, while they managed, it wasn't always the most comfortable arrangement for five people to be living on.

Now with their new ship, tentatively being called just _Ship_ , everyone had more than enough space for themselves. And there's even a hangar for the newest rendition of the _Milano_ , most likely a Mark-3, to sit idly or purr to life once Rocket jumps on board.

But she's not ready yet. While definitely in working order, there is a dire need for a fresh paint job and some fine, Rocket-inspired tuning. Rocket promises he’ll get to work on the ship soon. He gives finger guns, tells Quill “I'll get there. Don't worry,” and then he never does anything about the ship sitting in the hangar.

In fact, he hasn't had a proper conversation with anyone since last week.

Not since the Sovereign.

Not since Ego.

Not since Yondu went off and…

Truth be told, Rocket just wants to live. He enjoys galavanting around with his friends, but just last week had been especially… interesting. And to translate interesting in Rocket's mind, it means traumatic and devastating.

But these two pistols are really keeping him distracted for the most part today.

“Have you ever… hmm, hmm, Southern Night?” Rocket twists the gun almost violently, a loud clack ringing against the metal walls of _Ship_. “Don't know the words still, I probably should though,” he continues along the song with a crooked lip. Obviously, those aren't the lyrics, but that's not going to stop him from singing them like they are.

_Tap tap tap._

A tapping from the foot of his door.

Rocket is momentarily confused, but the tapping on the door is immediately recognizable upon realization. It's Groot, undoubtedly. No one else would tap that low or at that velocity. And although he hasn't associated much with anyone else, he does still see Groot a lot. Mostly when it's time for bed. Everyone else is giving him space, oddly enough.

With a grunt, the raccoon rises to his feet, trots over to the door, and slaps the button to open panel.

And he **_expects_ ** to see Groot.

And he does. The twig stands with a tiny smirk on his face, big brown eyes wide, hands folded together at his front. And its cute.

But he's not alone, which Rocket did not expect at all. With Groot is the newest and possibly oddest addition to their crew. And yeah, even though Rocket is a talking raccoon, Groot is a talking tree, and Gamora is a living weapon, this one just might take the cake...

And that person is the girl called Mantis.

She stands almost in the exact same position as the flora colossus, looking down at what she calls a ‘crabby puppy’ with an almost endearing look. Except the smile. It's still a tiny bit creepy, even though it isn't as off putting as the first time she'd presented her award-winning grin to Drax.

But she still looks just a tad bit insane with the way she keeps it plastered to her face like that. Her black eyes wide, her face so still that she seems to be shaking just to keep her face straight ahead.

And Rocket?

He doesn't comment on it. He has no energy to tell this girl to get the hell out, to leave him and Groot to be for a bit, to stop smiling like a freak.

Not after… everything.

“Hey,” Rocket begins a little awkwardly, a cough following the word. He eyes Mantis as he kneels down onto Groot's level, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Hello,” Mantis replies sweetly as she gazes down at the odd duo.

With the strange introductions out of the way, Rocket shoots his attention to what is basically his son, who is chewing on his tiny wooden fingers. “Whaddaya up to, Groot?’

“I am Groot!” _We came to check in on you!_ Groot throws his tiny arms into the air and bounds forward, attaching himself to Rocket’s right leg with surprisingly strong grip. And with that, Rocket eventually had a tiny, baby plant temporarily stuck to his leg.

The raccoon does manage a smile. A genuine one, too. “Ah, cool. I'm doin’ fine, I guess. Still settling in…” He sniffs the air, scrunching up his face. “ **_Still_ ** smells weird…”

“It does,” the empathic woman agrees, going to take a step forward. But suddenly, she lurches her foot back, gasping a little. “Oh, no. I'm sorry. I should have asked…”

Rocket raises a furry eyebrow. “Asked what?”

“If I am permitted entry. I know you like your space…” Mantis twiddles her fingers nervously, looking down at the ground as if she were a child caught stealing candy from a store. “I just know Peter said you are… particularly…” She just trails off. “I apologize.”

The raccoon just nods. Peter knows him well enough to apparently warn this girl not to come near him when he's in this mood. But he’s surprised that she even had the audacity to ask his permission instead of just doing as she pleased.

It's nice.

“Nah, I mean… you're good. Don't worry about it. Ya can come in here if ya really wanna. Just don't step on the guns.” Rocket tries to sound as earnest and inviting as possible, even though he's a little wary about this strange girl.

Apparently, it works. At that, the shame disappears from Mantis’ face and a grin replaces it. She's so bright, so kind, and Rocket actually can't help but want to tell her that. Out of character? Maybe.

But things are changing.

“Ah. Okay. Thank you.” With quick steps, she strides across the mostly empty room before taking a spot on the bed in the corner, looking around with a tiny smile across her lips. “It is very spacious.”

Rocket makes an attempt to stand after he pries Groot off of his leg, only to have the tree reattach himself once the raccoon is back on his feet.

Mantis giggles fitfully at the scene.

Rocket rolls his eyes with a snort. “Kids, amiright?”

“I do not entirely know what you mean, because I have never interacted with children very often, but I assume you are right.”

“I **_am_** Groot,” the twig adds with a cocky tone. _I’m the_ ** _best_** **_FUCKING_** _kid._

Rockets eyes go wide, shooting down at the tree that is hooked to his leg. “Groot! We talked about that! Ya can't say that word!”

“What did he say?” Mantis inquires, antennae raising in curiosity.

“Nothin’ important,” Rocket insists, glaring at Groot with squinty eyes.

The tree just smiles back up at him.

Rocket can't stay mad at Groot, though. His tiny face, his ecstatic demeanor…

“Ah, Groot. You're gonna be the death’a me, y'know that?”

Mantis chimes in, “I do not think Groot would kill you. He loves you very much, Rocket.”

The sentence sounds almost like something the raccoon had heard that absolute buffoon Drax comment a while back. Perhaps it was the exact same thing. Rocket can't be sure. He does tend to say that Groot is going to be the death of him at least once a day.

But it makes him think that this girl is just… so strange, so interesting. Mantis hasn't been around people as much as he has, and she's just so in awe of it all.

But then why is she _here?_ Why is she in his room? What does she want? Curiosity? Is she just bonding with the tree?

“Yeah, I know,” Rocket replies, reaching down and patting the tiny sprig on the head. “How couldja tell? The way he clings to me?”

“No. That was what he felt when I touched him.”

“Oh,” Rocket replies plainly, gazing down at the tiny plant. He has literally no idea what that means. When she touched him? What, did Groot like… communicate to her? Is that what her weird antenna are for? High frequency tuning?

Is she a fucking **_robot_ **?

There is a few beats of silence in the room. Groot nuzzles against the ringtail’s fuzzy leg, his wooden face warm on his skin. Rocket doesn't mind it. He loves Groot. He can't deny a child affection like he would any other shitty person who speaks to him.

And in the warm moment, the silence is broken. “Rocket? Can I ask you something?”

Rocket looks back to Mantis. “Hm?”

“Well, it is more of a request…” The empath’s grin has fallen, a more solemn, serious look crossing her face as she looks at Rocket with her big, black eyes.

“Um…” Well, shit. Apparently she **_does_ ** want something after all. And knowing where his mind and heart currently sit, Rocket can only imagine the tons of possibilities that could be his reaction to Mantis’ request.

“Groot?” The twig looks up. “Why don’tcha go and find something to do? I think me 'n’ Mantis need to… talk about a thing. Okay?”

“I am… Groot?” _Is it… an adult thing?_

“Sorta,” Rocket lies. He has no idea what is about to happen. “Just, um… go see Gams. And tell her that I'll actually eat with everyone tonight, okay? And… they don't understand ya, what the hell? Just go see Gamora, okay?”

Groot is ecstatic at the first part of Rocket's firm suggestion. Lately Rocket has taken all of his food into the privacy of his room, turning on a the holo-screen and flipping through until he finds a good show. And everyone else?

They sit together. Enjoying the company of one another.

“I am Groot!” the tree cries, twisting around and practically flying out of the room and down the hall.

“He seems excited,” Mantis comments. “I would like it if you ate dinner with us, too. It would be nice to know you better.”

The raccoon sniffs, whiskers twitching as he catches another whiff of the infamous stink. “That what this is about?” Rocket questions bitingly flicking a finger between he and the girl on his bed.

Mantis blinks, unsure of how to respond. “Um…”

Rocket didn’t mean that. He doesn't know why he sounded so pissed off. “Shit. Sorry. Don't mean to come off as a total dick. Just having a weird time with...” Rocket shakes his head, the remnants of that sentence disappearing with the motion as he tries to recover from the conversational mishap. “Anyways, whaddaya need?”

“Well…” Mantis looks into her lap where her hands rest. “It is mostly a request on Peter’s part. I-I was hesitant about it myself, but…”

Rocket crosses his arms across his chest, raising an eyebrow and tapping his toe. “Quill want me for somethin’?”

“He wants me… well, he wants me to… to _feel_ you.” The raccoon's brow furrows instinctively at the mention of being “felt”. Like pet? And by a complete stranger?

He opens his mouth but Mantis keeps speaking, forcing his “What?” to be cut off short.

“But I know that you aren't always comfortable with that. But I still wanted to speak to you.”

“Why?”

“Because Drax told me the way to know someone and befriend them is to talk to them. It is not always polite to feel someone’s feelings, even if it is the easiest way. And you seem like you may need a…Another friend. I hope.” With her brief explanation finished, the empathic woman gives a bright smile. “Is that okay if we talk to each other to become friends?”

Rocket blinks, scratching the back of his head as he takes a few steps toward the girl. No one had actually come to talk to him after the events from the week prior. He assumed everyone was giving him space given the circumstances, probably having learned their lessons from when Rocket had just lost Groot.

So this is interesting. Mantis just wants to _know more._ More about **_him_ ** for some fucking reason. Of all the people on this vessel, Rocket?

But what the fuck was that about _feeling someone's feelings?_ Did he miss a memo at some point? Is Mantis high? Maybe drunk?

Maybe she **_is_ ** a robot and she's just breaking down on short circuits and loose bolts.

“I guess that's… okay.” Although he doesn't know why, the ringtail feels it to be the best response. Rocket pulls himself up onto the bed, ear brushing up against Mantis’ bare shoulder as he gets comfortable. “Oh. Sorry,” he says with a flustered voice, sliding over a good foot.

Mantis just laughs. “You're so soft! Your hairs tickled my arm!”

God, she's so weird, Rocket thinks.

“Uh, yeah. That's what… fur does. It's soft.”

Mantis laughs, but Rocket just keeps a straight face. Her laughing finally coming to a steady halt after some time, the absence of laughter on Rocket's part a tad disconcerting. After a moment of composure, she asks, “Was that a joke?”

The raccoon shakes his head. “I wouldn't… say so?” he answers, confused. “I mean, I didn't think it was funny, but…”

“What do you think is funny? I think jokes are funny.” Mantis questions.

Rocket keeps staring up at her odd, blue-tipped antennae as he thinks for a moment. “I mean… as rude as it is, I think when people goin’ about their day just like fall down or slip on something that it’s kinda hilarious.”

Mantis blinks in surprise at the answer.

“I mean, s’not always funny that their hurt, but man, seeing someone go down like a stack of bricks coz of some weird Glorkon fruit juice some kid spilled is just…” And then it's Rocket's turn to laugh. Loud, obnoxious, full-on head titled back laughter. “So-Sonuvabitch, that was the funniest thing I ever saw.”

“You saw somebody fall down?” Mantis sounds almost jealous.

“HAHAAAA, yep! All the time. But that Badoon guy I'm thinkin’ of… god, that one was hilarious.”

The empath squints her eyes, whispering in a cold voice, “I want to see someone fall down and laugh at them.”

Rocket's actually taken aback by the dark remark. “Oh wow. Yeesh. Yeah, dude. Chill.”

“I am very relaxed, thank you.”

Rocket scoffs. “Ya sound like Drax.”

“Is that a good thing?”

Rocket breaks eye contact, his gaze drifting slowly downwards before settling toward the wall opposite of them. “Yeah. It's good. I’m glad ya took to Drax so fast. He's good.”

Mantis keeps looking at Rocket with her bug eyes. “Does that make me-?”

“Yes, that makes you good too, ya weirdo.” The answer seems to satisfy her, because she does not question Rocket further on the subject. He's glad, because he wants to know what in the hell this… feeling shit she was talking about earlier was.

Rocket turns his head back toward  the strange, green-clad girl and begins, “Okay, so earlier… Ya said ya wanted to feel me.”

Mantis nods. “Yes.”

“Didja mean like… y’know… **_pet_ ** me?” Rocket grimaces at the word, and Mantis takes note if it. “Or…?”

She shakes her head. “No, not exactly. Even though you look very soft and I really would love to pet you on the head, it would be my dream, you're so actually cu…” A brief pause, and then she picks up again, going from being a rambly little girl to a composed being ready to give a lesson in a mere second. “No. I am an empath.”

“Empath?” He's heard the word before but he hasn't the slightest idea what it means.

“You were not present when I explained this to your friends on Ego's spaceship. If I touch somebody, I can feel their feelings. As well as alter someone else's feelings, but only to an extent.”

Rocket feels his eyes go wide, the hair on the back of his neck stand up. She can really do that? Damn. “That what these…” He points to her forehead promptly, wiggling his finger to gesture between the two. “That what those do? Or help ya with?”

“Yes. And it has been of great service for a couple of people on the ship after what we all endured with Ego.”

“How so?”

Mantis turns her body so her legs are now up on the bedding as well, tucked under her body as she leans forward. “Peter is taking everything very hard. He does what you do. He has cut himself off for the most part. He wishes to be alone. We see him less than we see you.”

Rocket didn't know that.

Granted, be should've used his intuition to know that something was off. He hadn't heard any music blasting through the speakers of _Ship_ whatsoever. Groot never mentions Peter when he comes into Rocket's room at night and settles in for sleep. And Peter hasn't come knocking down his door, yelling out, “Rockeeeeet! C’mon, dude!” like he did when the raccoon was desperately nursing a twig back to health.

And Rocket remembers those days well. They spent three days in a Xandarian hotel, all with their own rooms. And Rocket spent 80% of that time just hoping, praying that by fucking Odin that Groot would grow back to life. All he did was mourn. All he did was stare at the pot and think of all the grief he'd caused Groot, how he'd taken him for granted.

And when Peter came to check on him on the third day, Rocket felt better. At first he was unsure, but when the stupid human talked to him and helped him through the travesty that he'd just experienced, he felt surprisingly better.

And now Peter is in a similar type of pain. He lost two people in the span of two minutes. Granted, Ego was a certified dick once he revealed his entire plot and uncaring attitude toward Quill, but at the time it was emotionally wrecking for the human.

And Yondu...

Rocket scratches behind his ear, lips curling downward slightly. He swallows hard before speaking. “Really? He don't come out and talk much?”

Mantis nods, wearing an expression that matches Rocket's as she continues on. “I went to him and suggested that I use my abilities to help him. Maybe to let him know that… he is not alone in this.” She brushes a couple of stray black hairs from her face before she places her hands back into her lap. “He agreed. And for a moment's time, he seemed happy again. And Groot wished for me to do it with him as well. And all he felt, aside from childish anger that he was not allowed anymore of those candies from Gamora, was love. Love, especially for you, like I said earlier.”

Ah. So that's how she knows how Groot feels for Rocket. Through emotional reading.

And the biggest thing that the tiny twig is feeling is love for… Rocket?

“But I know that I can't do it every day. I want everyone here to be happy. You are all my new friends. But Drax told me that Peter has to learn to cope with the loss of his family on his own.” Mantis rings her hands together in her lap, heaving a sad breath. “And Peter… I don't know if I'm the one who can help him in the way that he needs to be helped.”

“Right…”

Peter doesn't need an empath.

He needs the closest approximation that he has to a best friend.

And that just happens to be Rocket.

And so for a few long moments Rocket ponders everything she just told him. Mantis is more than just a weird girl who he honestly thought of as just a stupid orphan at first glance. She seems almost like a goddess in his mind. He doesn't know of anyone else who has 'powers’ like this, powers that reach deep down to your very core and make you think very deeply on everything in your life.

It's… amazing.

“So ya think that… if ya could feel someone else's feelings, ya could help 'em understand them a bit more? Like you're sorta like a therapist or some shit?”

Mantis looks up at the ceiling in thought. “Maybe. I don't know what a therapist is.”

“Kinda like a doctor who helps people through emotional trauma. Good people.”

“Oh. Well, I am not doctor. But I will say, with Peter, our experience opened something up inside him. We talked for a good while about everything that had happened. It was a nice conversation, even though we covered very sore subjects. Ego, Yondu…”

At the mentioning of the recently deceased Centaurian, Rocket shifts slightly. His perky ears fall slightly. The tiniest hint of a frown slides across his black lips as well, and he can't best to keep looking into Mantis’ Black, all knowing eyes for now. So he shoots his gaze back to the wall.

“Why do you frown? Were we not having a good conversation?”

 _Fuck, she's such a sweetheart_.

The empath just doesn't understand. Rocket doesn't even fully understand what is happening underneath his fur, but there's just… something there, something eating at him.

“Yondu 'n’ I had a... And I didn't think he'd be the person to show me… Mantis, it's just complicated.”

“I see.” And she falls silent.

The raccoon swallows hard over the tightness in his throat. “Hey, um… Mantis.”

Her antennae perk up at the sound of her name. “Yes?”

“If ya wanna go ahead and… um…” Nervously, Rocket runs his hand across the back of his head slowly as if he were bathing. “Y'know… pet me. And do that thing ya do. Tell me all about it. I think it might be a… a good idea.”

The empath grins. “Really?” She can't believe it.

She had spoken with Drax and Gamora very heavily about their two Earthborn comrades, and she was very intrigued by Rocket. He's cute, with his fuzzy face and bushy tail, but his interior is hardly something to match, as Gamora had cautiously warned her. And Drax agreed. But Mantis insisted that there is some food in him.

If not why is he here?

And why when she touched everyone else did Mantis detect a caring attitude toward the strange, raccoon creature called Rocket?

“Yeah. S’not something I dislike really. It feels really good. Just don't like when strangers do it.” A second later, he adds, “Sorry 'bout the first time, by the way. I snapped my jaws atcha and now I feel bad about it.”

The empath smiles wider, laughing at the memory. “Drax said it was a joke! It was funny.”

Rocket just gives her a half smirk and snickers himself. “Yeah. If ya say so. But go ahead, do your thing.”

And the ensuing excited outcry on Mantis’ part as she pet Rocket on the head **_without_ ** nearly being cut open by procyon teeth was just adorable.

 

-0-

 

_Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap._

It’s the door.

_Tap tap tap tap._

Fast, heavy knocking on the hollow metal.

 _Tap tap tap tap tap tap_.

He suddenly awakens with a heavy, fast breath into his nose. Music plays quietly from… somewhere nearby. A loud, energizing song. Somewhere in this room...

_Tap tap tap tap tap._

He's not even _awake_ yet. Who's knocking? Is it Mantis again? Maybe Gamora? Drax? Groot is the most likely candidate, if he's being honest with himself. The little twig is **_always_ ** up to something. Could be an emergency if it **_is_ ** Groot, too...

“C’mon, open up the door!” yells out a voice from the other side in a sing song tone.

He raises an eyebrow in confusion, grunting as he rises from the bed. He sniffs the air, and scrunches his face up.

“God, it smells like Ravager ass in here...” he murmurs to no one in particular.

“C’mon, dude!” the voice outside cries out again.

“Oh my god, I'm coming!” he replies to the obnoxious voice behind the door.

And so he shuffles toward the door, presses his hand against the button on the panel, and when the door slides open…

Peter Jason Quill, the freshly awakened and somewhat grumpy Terran, is greeted by a very awake looking Rocket Raccoon.

Given that Peter hasn't seen him since the funeral they held for Yondu, he looks like he's doing fine. His fur actually looks clean and well kept to a certain degree. He isn't wearing the same outfit as he had been the week before, instead dressed up in another flightsuit of similar design and color. Guess the raccoon likes the blue.

And tragically Quill can't say the same for himself. His hair has taken form of a serious case of bedhead, and this is the only hairstyle he has known all week. And he's literally been wearing the same shirt advertising that silly space candy bar for the past week.

And yes, he showered. But he didn't have time to wash his one change of outfit.

And you'd think that these two losers would be very excited to be seeing ime another in this moment. But suddenly, at the sight of one another, there is an unease. Last Rocket saw Peter, the raccoon had made a rather sad remark as they gaze out at the colorful Ravager funeral.

“Even if he stole some batteries…?”

It's rang out in Peter's head for the past week.

He hasn't escaped that comment whatsoever.

“Rocket.” It's not a question or greeting, and it comes out a bit harsher than Peter wants it to. “What's, um… what's happening?”

The raccoon’s ear twitches, his face tightening. “Are ya okay?” The sing-song voice is gone, his demeanor taking a sudden flip from what seemed very happy to semi-serious.

“If this is what okay looks like,” Peter gestures to his messy hair and wrinkled clothes, “then I am a hundred percent okay.”

“Well okay _usually_ looks like Star-Lord in his cool jacket, laser pistols, and his badass helmet,” Rocket says matter-of-factly before he laughs. “But um, I wanted to see if ya we're up for something today. I mean, we haven't like… done anything since… Ego.”

Rocket can see Peter’s face flush with a mixture of anger and sadness at the mentioning of the Celestial.

“And that wasn't anything fun. But I was gonna head off somewhere for some alone time. Get off this stinky ship. Go blow some units for good measure and I wanted to see if ya wanted to come.” Rocket gives his best welcoming grin that he can

“If I came it wouldn't be some alone time for ya, would it?” Peter points out, sounding defeated.

Rocket grimaces at that, shaking his head.“Pete, ya know what I mean. Don't make it a thing. Feel like just need to get away from everyone else for a bit.” Suddenly, a toothy smile crosses the raccoon's snout. “Plus I was thinkin’ of going to grab some grub from that one place on Xandar… What's it called? Had them super juicy, meat-filled dumpling things? Flark, those were fuckin’ _good_ …”

As if on cue, Rocket’s middle lets out a loud grumble. Shocked by the volume and depth of the actually scary sound that came from his direction, the raccoon blinks and pats his stomach. “Speaks for itself. I didn't eat last night coz I got sick’a Drax’s cooking.”

“How? He's the closest thing we have to a gourmet chef even if some of his choices are… odd.”

“Yeah, but we haven't done any proper stocking on this vessel. All we got is noodles and sauces. And even our mountain of a Cook can only do so much with noodles and sauce.”

And oddly enough, Peter's actually smiling the tiniest bit at the three foot tall idiot raccoon.

“Anyways, the place you're thinking of Angela’s, Rocket.” After a moment, Quill places his hands in his hips and adds, “And honestly, that's a dealbreaker for me.”

Rocket's eyes widen. “Really? Ya serious?”

“Yeah. Just gimme like ten minutes? Need to change into some better clothes. Kraglin must have something around here.”

Rocket’s energy suddenly spikes up ten levels as he yells out, “Awe-some! I’ll get our lil’ ship started up and all that. But ya better hurry, dude! I’m frickin’ starving to death!”

A moment later, the raccoon disappears in a flurry of fur and energy and down toward the hangar.

Peter just huffs a heavy sigh, bounding over and pressing the pause button on this weird Zune device. The song pauses halfway through. Quill bites his lip as he rolls the little device around his hands again and again.

He knows he can't sit in here forever.

“No point in trying it anymore.”


	2. Detox.Retox.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd recommend listening to the following list of songs in this order as you read on. I've interlaced them carefully into this chapter to fit the mood. Listening as you read might help enhance the experience a bit. But what do I know?
> 
> Anyways, list is as follows:
> 
> \- Rebel Rebel - David Bowie  
> \- Stacy's Mom - Fountains of Wayne  
> \- Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes - Fall Out Boy  
> \- I Miss You - Blink-182

And half an hour later, the two are actually drifting out into open space with Rocket in the pilot seat. They've been on the course for Xandar for ten minutes. Peter didn't feel like flying, even though the raccoon offered the Terran the pilot seat. And although the uncharacteristically kind attitude is a little odd, Peter is glad Rocket is seemingly back in a good state of mind.

And this was originally Rocket's solo adventure, apparently. He has a course in mind and there isn't any point in playing chauffeur for him.

Plus Peter can play DJ from the passenger seat. And having David Bowie blaring through the Milano Mark-3’s deck speakers is just plain old good, especially when it's a song he hasn't heard in years. Flying would distract him from enjoying this amazing, ancient song.

 

_Rebel rebel, you tore your dress_

_Rebel rebel, your face is a mess_

_Rebel rebel, how could they know?_

_Hot tramp, I love you so_

 

 _“_ This Zune thing is weird as shit but it has its perks,” Peter comments from the passenger seat, glaring down into the screen as he scrolls through the list. “Like we don't need a tape deck to listen to good shit. Just this weird… Cord.”

Rocket nods along with the song, only half listening to Peter. “Yeah. It's cool, though. By the way, this sounds like someone… it that one guy?”

“Which one guy?” Peter knows Rocket is thinking of Ziggy Stardust himself, but he wants to hear the raccoon’s though process.

Rocket thinks for a moment, scratching under his chin before a light bulb goes off in his head. “That one song that goes 'Don’t lean on me man, blah blah blah about a ticket?’”

Peter snickers. “David Bowie?”

Rocket nods. Quill's right. “Yeah, that guy! He's fucking good. I like that song a fuck ton and this one's pretty cool too.”

“Haven't heard it in years,” Peter remarks, leaning back into the seat as he takes in the guitar-riddled track for a few seconds.

“This Zune thing got a lot on it?” Rocket asks, genuinely curious.

“Yeah, it's weird. Kraglin helped me find a weird database somewhere on the archives with a bunch of songs. Only downside is the crazy pop ups that showed a lot of porn.”

The raccoon cringes. “Yeesh. Like, humie porn?”

“Yyyyeeep,” Peter draws out uncomfortably.

“Blegh. Gross. Stinky sweaty flesh bodies grindin’ up on one another…” The raccoon gags, his tongue dangling out if his mouth in a dramatic display of disgust.

Peter rolls his eyes and laughs. “But anyway, I got my songs I like on here. Queen, Elton John, Prince. Some Beatles, even.” Quill silently laughs to himself about which song it happens to be, all from a certain white covered album. Oh, the irony. “But a good 200 are some weird shit I've never heard in my life. Probably newer stuff. But hey, no biggy. Just gonna have to get used to it.”

Rocket can't help but notice that Quill doesn't seem all that… negative. Mantis made it sound out like Peter was honestly on the verge of suicide or something. And maybe Rocket simply misinterpreted, but the thought was enough to worry the raccoon.

But here the human is, acting as dopey and charismatic as usual, laughing and talking about all of his favorite musicians like Yondu didn't just die last week.

Or Peter is just as good at playing this game as Rocket is.

After all, Rocket has often told Quill to 'fake it 'til ya make it!’

“Or, y’know, could delete 'em?” Rocket suggests, pushing the thruster lever forward, increasing their velocity.

“Nah,” Peter remarks with a dismissive wave of his hand.

The cockpit goes comfortably quiet for a couple of minutes. In the background, David Bowie sings on as Rocket carefully maneuvers the ship through space. Of course he would love to just shoot off at the speed of light right now, but the ship just might break down if they do that. But he needs to keep his rambunctious attitude on the lowest possible setting for now.

The raccoon casts easy, sly glances over at Peter every few seconds. Is he okay? It's silent, so he'd better just be enjoying the ride and not looking miserable.

And Quill seems okay. No tears. No anger. No harsh tone of voice.

But under the surface? Rocket can't be sure. Quill could very well be like a young volcano, one with a vastly beautiful exterior. Smooth rock, a nice hue to the earth made landmark. But deep down, there is an eruption waiting to happen.

“ _This_ is one of those weird new songs,” Quill pipes up, pushing the volume on the device up a couple of notches.

Rocket listens closely, the crunchy guitar strumming a catchy melody that hooks his ear immediately. Not long after, a steady drumbeat accompanied by taps on a golden cymbal join in. And a human, most likely a male, tears their head into the song and sings the lyrics .

 

_Stacy's mom has got it going on_

 

It sings that line four times in total, and then suddenly, the song kicks up on its own with three sharp claps.

And the raccoon likes it. The track has already got his foot tapping against the seat.

“Sounds a lot clearer than the other stuff,” Rocket comments through a full grin. “Like I  terms of sound quality. Not as fuzzy. Some songs sounded like you humies sang 'em into a frickin’ tunnel.”

“Yeah, it's weird,” Quill agrees. “Don't know if I like it all that much, honestly.”

“You're the one who said we had to just try it!” Rocket cries out, exasperated. “Like **_dude_ **!”

Peter laughs at the raccoon’s flabbergasted display. “I know. I just… have to get used to the new stuff. I guess. Get used to the way things… Things are now.”

Rocket doesn't like the odd, downward spiral that sentence took. Star-Lord went from sounding downright joyous at the start to melancholic at the very end.

Volcano? Is that you?

“Well, new is cool,” Rocket replies ecstatically, trying to steer away the conversation from walking down a lonely, sad road. “I think it sounds cool and I wouldn't mind kickin’ some Kree or Sneeper ass to this song.”

Friendly reminder that the song playing is Stacy’s Mom by Fountains of Wayne. Go ahead and imagine what **_that_ ** montage would look like.

Ya done?

Right.

Anwyays...

“Why Sneepers?” Quill muses.

“I don't trust no Sneepers, Quill,” Rocket replies, squinting out into the stars. “Had many times where a Sneeper stole a job right from under my nose without me even noticing. They're too good at the bounty hunting game. Quick and quiet.”

“But you don't do that anymore, Rocket.” Pete says it like it's a wary reminder.

“No, but still. They're sly. Sly as Gamora.”

Peter whistles at the comment, placing both of his hands behind his head as he kicks back the seat. “Well, I've met many a Sneeper and none of them seemed as cunning and threatening as our wonderful lady Gamora.”

Rocket snorts as he pulls down a lever. They’re entering a patch of rough-looking space dust. And Rocket would rather not get something stuck in the exhaust ports or thrusters that sit on the wings.

“Lucky bastard,” the raccoon adds in reference to Star-Lord’s one-off experience with the race he is so bitter towards. “Speaking of Gams…”

Out of the corner of Rocket’s peripherals, Peter noticeably tenses up slightly at the mention of the Zehoberei assassin.

“Are you two like… y’know? And I ain't being an ass, I am genuinely curious. Seems like the two’a you are kinda close to…” Rocket takes both of his hands and forces the tips of his fingers to meet on each hand, forming the closest thing he can to a mouth on both of his paws. Then he presses them together, puckering his lips as best he can to imitate a gross, wet kissing sound.

“Like close to being an actual couple?” Peter asks, pursing his lips and raising an eyebrow at the raccoon’s oddly disturbed puppet show.

Rocket’s lovey-dovey hand puppets disappear. “Yeah. That. Ya get it.”

Quill shrugs and breathes heavily. “I know whatcha mean, but I dunno what's really going on, man. It's kinda still a thing that neither of us really mentions directly as… Y’know, an **_attraction_ **.” Peter's voice has lowered down as if there are other people on this ship who can't hear this conversation.

“Right,” Rocket agrees, urging the human to continue on.

“I mean, it's still totally an unspoken thing. But now I just… I don't know dude.” Peter leans forward in his seat, the back of the chair leaning forward with him with the pull of the tiny lever on the side. “In all honesty, I think before we can address that I need- **_we_ ** need to recover from the events of the past week.”

“Agree with ya there. Maybe when ya two get around to talking about it, you guys could like vacation somewhere together? I know I've thought about doin’ it myself.”

“Where would we even go Rocket?”

“I mean, Felix is cool. It's like the ultimate beach planet.”

“You like the beach?” Peter snickers. Rocket gives a quick nod. “Really? Didn't think that was your kinda place.”

“I mean, who doesn't? It's warm and the sand is nice and the water is crystal clear and super cool. Me ‘n’ Groot ended up there one night coz he thought I needed a break after I had one of those nights.”

“That's not why you wanted to leave today, right?” Peter sounds worried, more worried than usual.

Rocket looks to Peter and shakes his head. “Nah. Don't worry, I haven't had a bad night in a damn good while. Just wanted some space. Literally.” He waves out to the black, star-riddled sea ahead.

“You're the king of crappy puns, Rocket.”

“I know.”

Peter grins. God, Rocket is something else today. Not a single rude comment, not a single sassy remark. Not even a single random bolt was thrown at Peter's temple.

What's going on?

“Anyway, Xandar first?” Peter leans up out of the red cushioning and views the pull up holo-screen in front of him, pulling up said planet’s coordinates. “Got a jump we could make not too far from here. To the west. About ten clicks. And dude, I am feeling those hunger pains, too.”

“Well,” Rocket clenches his teeth together, voice shaky, “if I toldja that we ain't goin’ to Angela's until you don't lie to my face again, what wouldja do?”

And Quill doesn't answer.

Because now, just as he thinks things are going a little too well, Rocket is going to pull this out of nowhere.

Rocket can feel the human's gaze peering hard at him as he keeps his eyes out into space. And the raccoon does eventually turn to look Quill in the eye, heart pounding out of his chest.

And only now does Peter seem upset. Jaw clenched, eyes wide, but there's a prominent frown carved hard into his face.

And in the background, another track has been playing for about a minute, and only now does it suddenly seem to grow louder.

And it’s another one unfamiliar to both of the Earthlings.

 

_I’m a loose bolt of a complete machine_

_What a match_

_I’m half-doomed and you're semi-sweet_

 

“Rocket, what are you talking about?”

The raccoon sighs and puts the ship into autopilot, sliding off of the rickety seat and standing before Peter. “Alright, serious mode engaged.” The raccoon feels his knees go weak, but he doesn't let it show. His stomach flip flops around as he tries to think of what to say next. And, no it’s not out of lack of food from Angela’s but due to the overbearing confrontation that is manifesting.

Rocket doesn't want to do this.

But two months ago, Quill did it for him, back in a hotel room on Xandar.

“Earlier I asked ya if ya we're okay. And ya said ya were, but I know you, Star-Lord.”

Rocket sees Pete swallow hard, his fingers tightening around the grips on the sides of the seats intensely. The leather creaks beneath Peter's grip, the seams looking like they may tear off if he pulls up with all that strength.

“And… and I know Peter Jason Quill ain't okay if he doesn't talk to me for a whole fucking week. And I know ye ain't mad at me. But…”

Peter looks away defensively, rubbing his eye with the back of his palm. “Rocket, c’mon, man. You know how crazy you sound? I'm fine. We've been talking about music and stuff for the majority of our ride together. If I were in a bad mood, I wouldn't even be talking to you at all.”

The raccoon shakes his head. “I ain't crazy, Quill. Ya can't fool me. I just… I'm worried about ya, Quill.”

And Peter huffs at that. Defeated, he deflates into the seat once again. “And here I thought you brought me out here to cuss me out about me asking Mantis to come and check in on you because I was worried.” Peter just shakes his head and groans, voice tightening. “Too good to be true.”

Silence falls over them again.

 

_Little girl, you got me staring out_

_Or was that just a telescopic camera now?_

 

Rocket folds his arms across his chest, looking down at the shiny metal floor. “Ya got that girl to thank for makin’ me…” Suddenly, Rocket twists everything around again. “Y’know, I say that too, Pete. Too good to be true. I thought this thing we all got goin’, Guardians of the Galaxy, was too good to be true. Didn't think it mattered.” The raccoon begins to pave around slowly, all the while keeping his gaze fixated on Quill. “Didn't think it'd matter. Didn't think you guys would want me around. But according to that freaky bug-girl, none’a you idiots hate my guts.”

Peter shakes his head slowly as he listens. Rocket can see the light from the outside space shining a little brighter than normal against Quill's eyes, shimmering slightly as he listens to the raccoon's monologue on and on.

“And Pete, I know how ya feel. I know what's going on inside’a you. And I just wanna help ya through it like ya did for me.”

Peter, through clenched teeth, growls, “How?”

“How what?”

“How would you know what I'm going through?”

Rocket blinks. Did Quill stop listening after he said ‘I know how ya feel’?

“Well, with Groot, man. Remember? I lost my buddy. And it was so hard for me. But ya came around to my hotel room and-”

Without any sign or warning, Quill suddenly twists toward the ringtail and yells, voice rising as the song picks up in volume as well, drums and vocals and guitar all yelling out in one glorious melody.

 

_Boycott love_

 

But Quill’s loud volume isn't as pleasant as the song playing over their speakers. “And you just happened to get so damn lucky that he can just grow right fucking back! Of course you did! Of course!”

Rocket blinks. It hurts. No, not because Quill is yelling at him. He knows Peter isn't pissed at him in the slightest. But it hurts to see what he had feared.

Peter is broken, even now. Just a minute ago they were bonding again over David Bowie.

And now he's in the verge of tears, smoke pouring out of his ears, and the angry words won't stop coming out.

The raccoon opens his mouth to speak, but Peter doesn't stop screaming.

“You don't get it. You don't. I lost two people in the span of an hour. I didn't think Ego was a bad person. I was _convinced_ that he was good for me, that my _dad_ cared about me. But no. I can't have that. Of course he has to be a fucking asshole. Of course he has to put me and you and everyone else through pain. And Yondu…”

The name falls off Peter's lip with a quiver.

 

_Perfect boys with their perfect lives_

_Nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy_

 

“And Yondu comes down, and he just…”

Peter is silent for only another moment.

And then with a roar so loud that Rocket can feel the furs in his ears shake, Peter punches the glass screen with Xandar's coordinates pulled up ahead of him so hard that it actually cracks. Glass shards fall to the floor like raindrops. Star-Lord seethes with anger, his fists clenched as he smashes his seatbelt release with a fist.

When he rises to his feet, the raccoon backs up, scared that maybe Quill will actually punch him, maybe even kick him.

But he doesn't.

“Peter. Hey, Pete. Bud, hey.” Rocket has his hands outstretched in front of him as he attempts to calm Quill down. “Look at me, dude. Peter, please. Just calm down.”

The Terran doesn't say a word to the raccoon. Peter simply storms down the stairs to the lower deck, all the while murmuring hateful words.

And Rocket just watches it all happen with heaviness in his heart.

“Dammit…” Rocket sniffs and gets back into the pilot seat, punching in a couple coordinates. “Alright. Jump for Xandar…” he mumbles, adrenaline rushing from the anger he'd just been exposed to. It was terrifying.

But Rocket can't let it get the best of him. He wipes his eyes, shakes his head around and fluffing his fur out.

And the grand rock song played on, chanting out four words.

 

_Detox just to retox_

 

_-0-_

 

The spaceport isn’t as bustling as it tends to be today. And Rocket is grateful for that. It was nice to actually have a good parking space for once, especially on Xandar.

But Rocket doesn't even want to be here anymore. He doesn't know what to do with Peter. He doesn't know how to deal with an angry, spiteful Star-Lord whatsoever. And just the sight of Peter makes Rocket want to curl up into a ball and die.

So he stays in the pilot's seat, ears falling back on his head, tail tense as he sits in contemplation. The music has become mostly white noise to him at this point.

But among the white noise, due to his exemplary sense of hearing, there is a sound from below the deck.

Suddenly, Rocket's ears shoot up high on top of his head. “Oh no. No, no, no.” He slides off of the seat and rushes to the top of the stairs, listening intently over the music.

And the singer goes:

 

_We’ll wish this never ends_

_I miss you_

 

“Quill?”

And the sound comes again.

Not a word.

But the sound.

The sound that the raccoon believes to be a choked, wet sob.

Rocket takes tiny, gentle steps down the stairs, following the morose melody into the lower deck, the speakers on this level still playing but at a volume low enough that Rocket can focus.

“Pete?” Rocket calls out.

Again, there is just the sobs. To the right, the raccoon realizes, and closer toward the back.

That was where Peter's own personal cot once was set up, tape deck built right into the wall.

Slowly, Rocket treads over, greeted by a display that makes his chest tighten and his stomach drop.

Peter has his back pressed against the wall, sitting down with his elbows resting on his knees. His head hangs low, his entire form shaky as his silent crying breaks out the occasional sob.

They're worse to hear up close.

 

_Don't waste your time on me_

_You're already a voice inside my head_

_I miss you_

 

“Pete…”

The human doesn't look up. But he stifles his sobs, wipes his tears on the sleeve of his red jacket, and lets out a light, airy breath.

Hesitance pouring out if his every form, the raccoon comes a closer to Peter with shuffling feet. He stays still after creeping forward a couple inches, eyes locked onto Quill in search for a sign of distaste on his part.

The Terran barely bats an eye at the raccoon’s approach.

So Rocket just goes right ahead and sits next to Quill. He stretches his feet out as long as he can, curling his toes to relieve his muscles of the tightness he's feeling in his appendages. Carefully, the raccoon leans his head up against the metal wall, turning his head to look at Quill.

He just sees the Terran’s ear.

“Y’know, I ain't ever had to do something like this,” Rocket starts slowly. “Maybe coz I'm a bit of a prick. I know Groot always had his times of distress 'n’ grief and j just blew 'em off like they were nothing.” Rocket looks back forward, eyes shooting around the second deck as he explains. “But now I know I can't be like that. Can't be insensitive.” The raccoon curls into himself a little tighter. “No Pete, I dunno what it's like to lose a parent. My “dad” was a fucking scientist who’s idea of opening me up wasn't through a good ol’ heart to heart.”

Finally, Quill looks to Rocket. But the raccoon keeps looking forward.

“No, I don't know how ya feel exactly. But I got an idea, just a taste. Ya wanna know why I didn't even look up at any’a you guys at the funeral?”

Peter’s wet, cracking voice finally echoes against the walls. “Why?”

“Coz for the first time, I felt like the only person in the universe who knew me for me and understood the shitty feeling deep under this fur and perky ears as good as I did was gone.”

“But how… Rocket?”

“On our way to Ego’s planet,” the raccoon sniffs, wiping what is obviously a bit if dust out if his eye on his wrist, “Yondu and me talked. And we kicked ass together in the Eclector. Said he was sold off by his parents for slavery, and that… he said that I was him. Like lookin’ in a mirror, if personalities could do so.”

Peter blinks. “Yeah. Yondu did a lot of slave work when he was young. Sad stuff. He never liked to talk about it.”

“Figured,” Rocket groans. “I just… when I say, I get how ya feel, I mean it. You're hurting more than me, but I feel ya, Pete. I get loss. And… ya lost Yondu. And your biological dad too. We all lost something recently.” The raccoon snickers as he recalls a lyric from one of Peter's songs.

“Heh. Guardians of the Galaxy? More like Losers of the Year.”

It's meant to erupt laughter, but the joke clearly falls flat.

“So me being concerned for your dumb raccoon ass led you to… like, suddenly care a lot?”

The raccoon shakes his head. “Nah. Mantis just made me think a lot. She's… amazing. Like, power wise.”

A knowing look crosses Peter's dumb handsome face. “You got a little crush on Mantis?”

“Just coz I let her pet me don't mean nothin’,” Rocket replies. “Don't go off like ya just did and then accuse me of feeling that way about Mantis.”

Rocket feels a weight in his left shoulder, and looks to see Quill’s large hand resting on his shoulder in affirmation.

“I'm sorry I went ballistic,” Quill apologizes. “It's just hard. I didn't think I'd actually… **_miss_ ** Yondu like this.”

Rocket curls his tail around his body. “He was the closest thing ya had to a dad, Quill. At least ya got to have the time ya did have with him, right?”

Peter sniffs and gives a hesitant nod.

Rocket continues, scratching the side of his snout with his index finger. “I know its not gonna be an easy road for ya, Pete. That's why I wanted t’ help ya out, man. Help soften the blow. Mantis made it sound like ya were really hurting. And I don't like knowing that my…” Rocket huffs over his own ego as he mumbles, “...that my best friend outta everyone in this dumb group we got is hurtin’ like that. You're a good guy, Quill. Ya don't deserve this. And ya helped me out not long ago with a similar thing. So.”

There's a pregnant pause. And then...

“Best friend?” Peter sounds dumbfounded and honored at the same time. “Me? Seriously?”

“Yeah, ya idiot. That's you.”

“Even though we’ve been at each other's throats like two crazy, rabid dogs fighting for a slab of meat?”

“Yes.”

Peter, to the raccoon’s surprise, actually smiles earnestly. “Thanks, dude. Means a lot that you actually wanted to hang with me. Thought you were pissed at me for some reason.”

“Nah. Just feel the same as you. Coz me 'n' you, we are the losers of the year.”

“Duh.” Quill punches Rocket in the shoulder jokingly. “Forgot to say earlier. That is literally a line from Surrender. You're not all that clever, Rocket, incorporating my music into your get well speech.”

The raccoon rises to his feet, giving Peter the wonderful, always hilarious gesture that means 'fuck you’. “Piss off, Quill.” In one fluid motion Rocket arches his back, a loud pop sounding off as his back cracks before he twists on his heel and motions to the ship’s exit hatch with his thumb.

“Now if ya don't mind, can we get outta this joint and get those frickin’ dumpling things? I can't keep up the emotional pep talk without working up an appetite.”

Quill rolls his eyes. “Because eating our feelings is the best way to cope right?”

Rocket flashes Peter a sharp toothed grin.

“Damn straight, Star-Lord.”

And so the two head off, both feeling their weary sadness slowly fade away with each step toward the Xandarian center.

But the two geniuses never did turn off the music on the ship.

And much like the grief that once blanketed Peter and Rocket in sad isolation, the songs faded away with light guitar strums, soft snare beats, and three little words.

  
_I miss you_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I know, it's nothin' stellar. But I like it enough to post it. Keeps telling gears turning for Ricochet and the like, too.
> 
> Comments are fuckin' awesome. ✌✌✌


End file.
